Never Too Old to Pass Notes
by BinkumAndJo
Summary: The fact that they’re on your feet seriously enhances the sexual caliber of tangoing poultry. (I got your attention, didn't I?) (Chase-Cameron)


**This is the THIRD time I've re-posted this. It keeps turning on me, but I love it so much! My first House fic. To Amy, who gave me Sporky Socks for Christmas.**

Little pink flying pigs. Ants holding magnifying glasses. A little French bistro with a cat in the windowsill. Why couldn't Cameron wear sane, _normal_ socks? Was that really so much to ask? Gregg House sat in the consultation room, tapping his clinic-issued pen against a pad of paper.

He was about to complain that Chase and Forman were late, before he looked down at his wristwatch. In reality, they were 20 minutes early. Doing the math quickly in his head to relieve boredom, House figured that both he and Cameron had been sitting in the room silently for forty minutes.

There had once been a time in his life that he wouldn't have been caught dead an hour early to work. Anyway, back to Cameron's socks. They were different every day, though her favorites often made repeat appearances, the only non-standard particle of the young doctor's appearance. To be perfectly honest, they annoyed him. Albeit, the personality-abundant footwear supplied House with return barbs whenever Cameron called him immature and he was running low on ammo.

Today, red socks with white chickens square dancing peeked out from between khaki pants and standard issue tennis shoes. Before he could make a smarmy remark like, "How does the general poultry population feel about your stereotyping them as folk-dancers?" The sterile-feeling glass door swung open to reveal Dr. Eric Forman.

* * *

Finally. For once in his post-med school life, he was early to work. A good fifteen minutes, and he was positive he hadn't forgotten anything (except breakfast, but sacrifices had to be made). He practically hurtled into the clinic, giving his usual salute to Libby, the day nurse, at breakneck speed. He seized the stainless steel door handle of the diagnostic center, swung the heavy glass door open and strode in, whereupon he was met with a bored-looking Cameron and a crafty-looking House. That is to say, not much had changed since the last time he saw them.

Allison's eyes shot upwards at him, relief washing visibly over her face. Forman smiled grimly as he took a seat, thinking that if he was alone in a room with House for too long, he'd be reacting the same way. He shuffled his feet against the short, sensible blue carpet, the sound slightly more audible than he would have liked. He cast his gaze down sheepishly as his co-worker and superior shot him identical glares. They were really more alike than they'd admit.

While feigning fascination with the feet of the table, he noted Cameron's eye-catching fashion choice. There they were again. The first time she wore normalcy-challenged footwear she had claimed that her washing machine was broken. However, since then, they hadn't seen a single white sock from her. Not that he minded, personally.

House and Cameron, both slightly small-minded people, could be found bickering over anything from the coffee in the break room to the integrity of the election of a Missouri congressman. Out of all the battles of wits, which Cameron always lost, the ones regarding her socks were the best.

* * *

Time flopped by relentlessly slowly. Cameron rolled her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Breaking the marathon-winning silence, she asked tempestuously, "Is Chase ever going to show up?" House opened his mouth to reply with a question like, "Am I my physician's keeper?" but as if Chase had been summoned, he appeared in the doorway. Damn it. All his best lines were being interrupted.

* * *

Chase halted swiftly, met with the deadpanned faces of his colleagues. He blinked once, and then cast a look at his watch, causing a lock of blonde hair to fall before his face. "I- I'm not late, am I?" Both the clock on the wall and the one on his wrist testified that he was, in fact, on time, but maybe daylight savings time had started, or ended, and he'd missed it. "Not technically, unfortunately," House said dryly. "But, to quote Einstein, time is relative. However, I have it on good authority that he was often tardy himself, so maybe he just wrote his own doctor's note."

Before the cadre of younger physicians could exchange a curious glance at this apparent change in subject, House launched into a dialect on their latest critical patient. Chase seated himself furthest from House, but closest to Cameron. Most of the time, both dedicated young people would be immersed in the discussion. This time, only Cameron was involved with the biting exchange between Forman and House. Chase scribbled in his notebook, grinning at Cameron's look of intense concentration, bent on being first to correctly diagnose the mysteriously ill twenty-six year old male model.

He pushed the pad of paper toward his russet-haired coworker, and her eyes flashed downward in annoyance. _'I like the socks today.' _She rolled her eyes and turned back to her boss who was reverently arguing with Dr. Forman. Chase grinned as she ignored him and pushed the notebook back at him. _'What? I do. Wherever do you do your shopping?' _Cameron seized the notebook in a fit of annoyance. _'Shut up, Chase.'_

'_I didn't say anything. I was just commenting on how unbelievably sexy your dancing chickens are.'_

'_If you think square dancing chickens are erotic in any way, shape or form, you're more mentally addled than I excepted, Dr. Chase.'_

'_I must say, Dr. Cameron, that your flirtation skills are seriously lacking. Perhaps you're a bit rusty? Either way, the fact that they're on your feet seriously enhances the sexual caliber of tangoing poultry.'_

Cameron flushed an interestingly appealing shade of orange-rose that complimented her lightly colored eyes, which made Chase grin cheekily. When she didn't respond, he mentally shrugged, figuring he had scared her off again. Still, her demure blush was worth it. However, after about five minutes of House vs. Forman debate, Cameron replied. _'I'm glad you like them. I don't think they're your size, though. And, may I add, the fact that you have a closet foot fetish is more than a little creepy.'_

'_Foot fetish? Me? I just have a sincere appreciation for the female form. Specifically yours.'_

Cameron's reply came swiftly, her hand whipping it out so quickly Chase wondered if she had anticipated his remark, rather than just going with instinct before common sense took over. _'In that case, would you like to see more?'_

'_That's a rhetoric question, right?'_

'_Actually, it was more of a joke at your expense. Can't say you didn't walk into that one, can you?'_

Chase scoffed under his breath, causing his wolfish boss' head to whip up. "Want to contest that one, Chase?" The Aussie looked, for the second time that day, like a deer in the headlights. "Uh, no, it seems perfectly logical." Forman shook his head, chuckling lightly, as Cameron barely hid her grin with her hand. "Could we maybe pay attention, please?" House asked pointedly, "Unless I'm the only person in this room that doesn't think our patient has a carotene deficiency." He glared at Chase harshly, whereupon the younger doctor donned a dopey grin, aimed at Cameron. House seized his cane and limped out of the room, followed by a chuckling Forman.

**Soooooo... What'd ja think? I'm thinking a second chapter, and yourself? Pleave a reveiw, please and thank you.**


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